The Dark Trilogy

by Patrick D'orazio

  Ben had regained his composure and moved over to Lydia and Teddy. As he knelt over them, he spoke to Teddy. The boy shook his head violently. Ben spoke again, and the boy’s thin chest hitched a couple of times before he finally nodded. Ben helped him up, and the three of them moved toward Michael’s Winnebago.

  A few moments later, several heads turned as they heard Ben’s RV starting up. They had been on top of it only minutes before, and now it was rocking violently, the infected excited by the sound of the engine roaring to life. With the increase in volume, all hesitation disappeared. Everyone, including Michael, moved rapidly toward the door of his trailer. Cindy was right behind, running across the courtyard.

  Fear clung to everyone as they climbed aboard and moved to the back of the luxury cruiser. Cindy and Frank remained up front with Michael as they clung to the remains of their small arsenal. When everyone was on board and settled, Michael shut the door and faced his crew.

  No one spoke, but the trailer was noisy as fists and other body parts smashed into the outer wall. The windows were still intact, and the shades were pulled. None of the survivors was interested in moving them to snatch a quick look outside. There was a large piece of cardboard covering the front windshield as well, making the trailer seem cold and dark once the door was shut.

  “We’ll wait a bit before we take off.” Michael’s words were a whisper. “Maybe some more of them will move toward Ben’s RV since its engine’s on.”

  The hailstorm of fists did slow, and the sounds of moaning dissipated after a few minutes. Frank had his ear to the passenger window, and when he moved away, he gave Michael a halfhearted shrug. That seemed to be good enough, as Michael reached down and slid his key into the ignition. He nodded at Cindy, and she tore away the cardboard on the windshield.

  Michael turned the key, and the diesel engine spit and growled. All that could be seen through the windshield was the back of Lydia’s RV. The right edge of its bumper was touching the right edge of Michael’s. To the left was their path to freedom along with a crowd of unsuspecting stiffs making their way toward Ben’s RV. Michael spun the wheel and flipped the gearshift into reverse. The Winnebago was equipped with a rearview monitor, and he stared at it as he carefully backed away from Frank and Marcus’s RV, which was situated behind them. Several thuds indicated that a few of the ghouls had shifted direction and were coming back. Michael pressed down on the gas, feeding the vehicle more and more until the tires elevated, climbing out of their ruts. The protesting screech as the side of the RV grazed Frank’s trailer made everyone cringe. After easing back until they were clear, Michael twisted the wheel again and flipped the big machine into drive.

  He stared ahead at the world beyond the windshield. They were driving into hell, and everyone in the RV knew it.

  Michael slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and they rumbled forward, directly into a crowd of rotting bodies waiting for them with outstretched, welcoming arms.

  Beyond the Dark

  INTRODUCTION

  As Patrick D'Orazio's Publisher, it is my distinct pleasure to write the introduction to "Beyond the Dark", the third part of "The Dark Trilogy". The book is a wonder to behold. Why you may ask? The answer is simple ... "Comes the Dark" and "Into the Dark" are two of the finest horror novels I have ever read or published. They are constantly at the top of our "Best Seller" list and continue to be snatched up by the book reading public. Do I expect this for "Beyond the Dark"? You bet your Aunt Bessie I do!

  Reading the three books you can see how Patrick has honed his craft. His use of words is sharp. His descriptions are second to none. His "got ya's" are always well placed. Patrick's muse is firing on all eight cylinders.

  So you, Dear Reader, are in for one of the great treats in the zombie genre of books. Patrick has written another winner. If you haven't read the first two books, please do that first. Then pick up this wonderful addition to "The Dark Trilogy". You don't want to miss any of the screams that will come from your inner soul.

  Undead love to all,

  Doc

  Publisher

  Library of the Living Dead Press

  I had a dream, which was not all a dream.

  The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars

  Did wander darkling in the eternal space,

  Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth

  Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

  Morn came, and went and came, and brought no day,

  And men forgot their passions in the dread

  Of this desolation; and all hearts

  Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light …

  From “Darkness” by Lord Byron

  Chapter 1

  The survivor’s lungs were on fire as he jogged down the street. It felt like there wasn’t enough oxygen in the air, and stopping to rest for long wasn’t an option. Glancing to his left, he saw the shattered picture window of a Chinese restaurant. The temptation to step inside faded as long shadows danced off the buffet table and booths that had been knocked over inside. There was no movement out on the street, and the area appeared to be abandoned, but there was no telling who or what might be roaming around inside the building.

  The man felt a twinge in his side and slowed to a stop. Leaning against the exterior of the building, he bent his knees until they popped, and tried to catch his breath. All he needed was a few seconds and he would be good to go again.

  Looking up, the sweat-soaked renegade stared through a display window of the store adjacent to the restaurant. Nothing was left inside except a thick layer of dust. The restaurant and the store shared the ground floor of a block-long two-story brick building with two other businesses. The desperate man wondered where there might be stairs leading to the second floor at the back of the store. What was up there? Apartments, perhaps? A view from a window with a higher vantage point might help him find the person whom he sought … but that was far too risky a proposition and would take too much time. He needed to stay on the hunt.

  Another burst of gunfire shattered the silence, and his head snapped up. The noise echoed and bounced off the different structures in the surrounding area, but it was clear from which direction it had come. Several loud moans followed, but the volume was nothing like it had been back at the camp. It was a smaller cluster of ghouls making this racket. The rotting horde had broken up and spread out as the survivors fled the accident in different directions. But even a smaller mass of the monstrosities was dangerous and impossible to manage for even a well-armed group.

  With a grunt, the solitary traveler got moving again. The gunfire had stopped, though the moans continued. That was how things had gone for a while now: big chunks of silence broken by gunshots and distant moans.

  The only time it had been different was when he had heard the screams.

  They had not been cries of terror. Instead, there had been pain in them … agony, to be more specific. A sound such as was heard when the undead tore into their victims, clawing at their skin and ripping the meat from their bones. It was a sound with which the survivor was quite familiar. Thankfully, when he heard the screams this time, they didn’t last long. It wasn’t a sound to which you never grew accustomed, no matter how many times you heard it.

  One of them is dead, he thought. At least one was, maybe more. The gunfire had disappeared, but that had happened before. They might all be dead, but he had to be sure. There was no way he could stop tracking them until he knew for certain.

  Jeff wiped greasy sweat off his brow and looked at the back of his hand. There was no blood this time. The thin cut above his eye had stopped bleeding. The sweat he’d smeared into the wound stung, but he barely noticed. Gripping the baseball bat, he forced his tired legs to keep him moving toward the sounds he heard up ahead.

  Chapter 2

  One hour earlier.

  The crowd of decrepit figures had spread out enough so that the RV could pull away from the other Winnebagos without bogging down. Michael drove out in
to the open, smashing through bodies that burst like putrescent balloons beneath the windshield or bounced off the bumper.

  It was one giant right turn at first. The Winnebago Destination was a thirty-nine-foot Class A motor home with a huge diesel engine, and weighed around fifteen tons. It rode smoothly over the rough surface as Michael spun the wheel, holding it steady. He swept around the other vehicles, going clockwise, and sideswiped several trees as he dodged a large glut of rotters. There was a screech of protest from outside as tree limbs dug into the RV’s silvery paint. Several bodies were tossed into the trees and pulped as they stood where wood and metal met. Michael overcompensated in response to the dying protest of the limbs by nearly steering into Lydia’s RV, but recovered in time to straighten out. The entire time, his foot remained planted on the gas pedal. To stop was to die. It would give the ghouls enough time to clump up in front of them, clogging their route to freedom. The diesel engine roared as they plowed through bystanders in their way.

  The noise outside was deafening. Any vocal cord that had not stiffened or decayed vibrated and thrummed with excitement. The sounds permeated every square inch of the RV, drowning out the screams of children and weeping adults alike. Michael increased his speed slightly as they slalomed through the open space with trees on one side and abandoned motor homes on the other. He plowed through the parade of bodies like they were bowling pins. Hugging the curve, he watched as more and more ghouls were crushed beneath the wheels. The shiny paint job was now crusted over with organic matter that splattered the RV like a Jackson Pollock painting. Michael’s head pounded as his eyes darted back and forth, desperate to avoid any major impediments that might make him crack up.

  The passengers sitting in the cramped confines of the bedroom in the back of the Winnebago stared through the windows, trying to snatch details of what was going on outside. Despite their fears, they couldn’t help but look as they sped away from the place that had been their home. Seeing the other RVs from the outside, with all the blood and decay dripping down their walls like biohazard graffiti, made it hard to comprehend how those metal sentinels had kept them safe for so long.

  Michael yelled for everyone to hold tight, snapping them out of the daydreams and nightmares they were all having. He twisted the wheel to the left, sending Megan sliding to the floor as Lydia clung to the children. Jeff grabbed a hold of Megan’s arm and hoisted her back up on the bed. Everyone else gripped whatever stationary object they could find.

  Jeff’s van was the marker for which Michael had been watching. He had parked it east of their exit point, and it was a beacon amongst the swarm of bodies telling him where to make his turn. When he saw it pop into view, he knew it was time to switch directions.

  He steered through the trees toward the field that lay beyond. Thankfully, the crowd had spread out enough to give him all the room he needed. There were still a lot of bodies to plow through, but not enough to hold the fifteen-ton vehicle back. The driver breathed a sigh of relief as he looked down the wooded tunnel that would take them to the outside world.

  Michael knew the trip might only last a few minutes if the broken bodies got jammed in the wheel wells or the axle got clogged up as he rolled over them. Far too many military vehicles, even tanks, had gotten their wheels and tracks snagged with shattered flesh and bone. Only speed and surprise could conquer these bastards when they were in huge numbers. Speed, surprise, and a hell of a lot of luck.

  As the mammoth machine forced its way through the narrow route between the trees, Ben, George, and Jeff moved forward in the RV until they were grouped around the small dinette table. They pulled back a shade and looked out, their eyes wide. The bloated and broken bodies kept coming, whizzing by the window. Many were knocked back as they blindly moved into the path of the Winnebago. But for every one taken out, two or more took its place.

  The jumble of screams and inquiries about what was going on from the back slowed as they broke out into the open. Sadie and Nathan were still crying, inconsolable in Lydia’s arms, but some of the adults clapped and cheered. To Jeff, it felt as if they had burst free from an infected womb, a nightmare threatening to imprison them forever.

  The brief celebration died as everyone saw the field ahead.

  “Sweet mother of God,” was all George could say as they watched the huge packs of migrating bodies outside their window. He looked at Jeff and Ben, and neither could add anything to what he had said.

  On the field to the north were even more plague victims than Jeff had seen back in Gallatin. They were pressing in from all directions, their agitation increasing as they saw the moving feast coming toward them. The ghouls traveled in clumps and clots like gangrenous scabs scattered across the earth’s surface. They pushed and jostled one another, jockeying for position. Jeff blinked and looked at Michael as he attempted to navigate through the crowd. He avoided all the impenetrable knots and clusters while blasting through smaller groups that were more easily scattered. Up ahead, closer to the road, the crowd was thinner. The infected were spread out to almost nothing on the asphalt.

  “Which way are we going?” Jeff yelled to Michael as he stood up and inched his way toward the front of the vehicle.

  “Just sit back down and leave Michael alone!”

  Jeff looked at Frank, who was seated in the swivel chair across from the driver. The one door on the motor home was directly behind his seat. Frank had a white-knuckled grip on the armrests as he swung around to face Jeff. Although he was angry, Jeff could detect a hint of fear in his voice. The hillbilly’s face looked pale and had the consistency of cottage cheese.

  “Look, I’ll sit down, just tell me where you’re taking us,” Jeff said, raising his voice in an effort to cut off Frank. “I can tell the others … maybe calm them down a bit, if you just let me know where we’re going.”

  Jeff forced himself to sound meek as Frank and Cindy, who was sitting directly behind Michael, stared at him. Getting even this close to them was elevating his blood pressure, but he knew he had to play it cool.

  “We’re heading east, through Manchester and out into the country.” Michael dodged another glut of stiffs before turning to glance at Jeff. “Does that meet with your approval?” The words came out in a sneer, the hatred coming off the driver in waves. Michael turned back to face the road, the steering wheel dancing in his hands.

  Jeff felt naked as Cindy continued to glare at him, a nasty smile on her face. He wished he had his baseball bat, but it was in the back with Megan.

  Fighting to retain his balance as the RV hit another bump, Jeff mulled over what Michael had said. They were driving into Manchester, which was insanity. Groaning inwardly, he knew what had to be said, but was already regretting the words before they left his lips.

  “Going through town? Pardon my French, but are you fucking nuts? Do you see the same shit I do outside these windows? How many more of these crazed mother fuckers will we have to plow through if we go through town?”

  Cindy bounced to her feet, the look in her eyes feral as she stalked toward Jeff. Her tattoos and raggedy mismatched hair gave her a wild, animalistic look. Her hands were tensed at her sides, claws at the ready.

  Jeff stumbled back, but managed to stay on his feet. His eyes never left Cindy’s as he waited for the attack. She had no weapon, but looked prepared to scratch his eyes out. He thought he heard her hiss.

  “Cindy, sit the fuck down.” Michael’s voice was harsh, a nervous master ordering his pit bull to heel. “Jeff, I suggest you back off before Cindy shreds you to pieces.”

  Jeff’s eyes darted over to Michael, but quickly returned to Cindy. He saw no change in her demeanor, nothing that would indicate she had even heard her boyfriend’s command. Then it happened. If he had blinked, he would have missed the transition. Her eyes steadied, and she relaxed. Though an evil glint remained, she looked human once again. She continued to stare at Jeff for a few more seconds, then licked her lips and moved over to Michael. It was clear that both the driver and hi
s guardian bitch had dismissed him.

  Jeff backed up past the table where Ben and George sat and headed back to the RV’s bedroom while Cindy continued to stare at him with ferocious hatred. When a wall was between him and the evil bitch, he was able to relax and give Megan an uneven smile, but wasn’t able to breathe normally again until he collapsed next to her and Jason on the bed.

  Chapter 3

  This hadn’t been the plan.

  They were going to make it through Manchester, no problem. Just a few turns of the wheel and they would be past the pisshole town and out where there wasn’t any population to give them more grief. All they had to do was dodge a few stiffs on the town’s streets and they would be golden.

  But they shouldn’t have been out here at all. They should still be back at the camp, turning back the dead up on the walls, or better yet, sitting quietly with those ghoulish bastards none the wiser that they were there in the first place.

  Of course, that was before that prick Jeff had screwed everything up.

  Michael felt better about things once they got past the field. They were going to be okay. He felt it in his bones. Jeff was still bitching, insinuating himself in every decision made, but Cindy had put him in his place. Even with the tension that strummed on every one of his nerve endings, Michael felt an almost primitive pleasure at seeing Cindy unleashed. Jeff might have enough backbone to snipe at a man with an automatic weapon, but he had no interest in taking on Cindy in full bitch mode. Once she flicked out the claws, the best a guy could do was to avoid pissing himself.

  They hit the asphalt of the street, and the vibrations that had been rattling the RV stopped. Michael’s eyes swept the road, and he knew they would be all right. There were plenty of meat sacks milling around, but not enough to do any real damage to the beast he was driving. The ones on the road were even more clueless than the ones they’d left behind. They didn’t seem to be sure what to make of the big vehicle; they were too busy stumbling around like some crappy imitation of the Keystone Cops. Michael’s eye twitched as another loosely stitched rag doll disintegrated against the grill. Watching another one of them obliterated was only a minor pleasure by now, but the knowledge that he had put another pathetic bastard out of his misery still gave him a bit of a rush.